Ah, Geez
by badwolf0924
Summary: Sherlock is on a mission to dismantle Moriarty's criminal network. John is still grieving the loss of his friend. How do both of these men end up in Bemidji, Minnesota. Why is there a horrible salesman who looks just like John, and what is he hiding... And who is Lorne Malvo, really? Just something that I came up with! Enjoy! (I also couldn't think of a better title... heh)
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, so I started writing this a little bit ago, cause I got the idea in my mind and couldn't control it any longer. And it was before Fargo was finished, so it takes place BEFORE they skip ahead a year.**

**So I guess it's what would have happened if, A)Fargo took place in like, 2012 and not 2006... and B)If they hadn't skipped ahead a WHOLE YEAR! (that was totally fine though, btw, the show was AMAZING!) and C)If Sherlock and Fargo existed in the same universe! OKAY! YAY!**

**Enjoy! [=**

Sherlock couldn't stalk the backstreets and alley ways of London looking after John any longer. He had a job to do. He was to track down all of Moriarty's network. Find them, eliminate them, return home to 221B. To John. It was simple enough.

After months of fighting his way through petty criminals and minor hit men, he'd finally found the information he needed. He'd found it in the back room of a brothel in Dusseldorf. Sherlock burst through the door, interrupting the giggling and necking that was taking place. He grabbed the supposedly great assassin around his coat collar, the man's trousers dropped to his ankles. Sherlock laughed and pushed the man up against a wall, banging his head against it.

"Sebastian Moran. Where is he?" The former consulting detective growled at the man.

"I don't know what you talk about." The man responded in broken English. Sherlock gave an annoyed eye roll and bashed his head into the wall again, causing a hole to begin to form, he let out a yelp.

"I said, where is Sebastian Moran. Do not make me ask again." He shouted, the woman in the room cried out that he was hurting the grimy pollock, Sherlock turned to her, "I know that, now would you kindly shut up." He growled at her and she shut her mouth, still cowering in the corner.

"He not here." The man answered plainly, Sherlock thrust his forearm into the man's gullet, causing a gag to escape from his mouth.

"Of course he's not here, you imbecile. But you know where he is."

"Minnesota." Came the short answer, the man's breathing became hitched and he looked as though he was going to pass out.

"Anything else I should know?" He pushed the man deeper into the new hole in the wall. He took a deep breath and Sherlock could barely hear the words he said before passing out.

"Lorne Malvo." Was faintly murmured as the assassin's eyes rolled back into his head and his body went limp beneath Sherlock's arm. He rolled his eyes and let the man drop to the ground, turning around and leaving the room as quickly as he'd barged in.

He pulled out his burner phone and dialed the number Mycroft had given him for the week.

"Mycroft. Yes it's me, who else has this number. Don't be an idiot... Yes brother mine I realize it is I who am the idiot. No that's not why I called... Well let me speak and I'll tell you..." His exasperated tone proved that it didn't matter if you were pretending to be dead, your brother could still annoy you, "Mycroft! Listen! Sebastian Moran is hiding out in Minnesota under the pseudonym Lorne Malvo... Well I don't know where in Minnesota, that's why I called you... Exactly... Just get me on a plane there... Yesterday..." He hung up the phone and tossed it into a trash can, opting to buy another one before he reached the airfield in Dortmund.

_Well I'm waiting in Dortmund. _**_-SH_**

Sherlock sent the text to his brother from his new burner phone and glanced around the airfield. There wasn't an active plane in sight.

_In the hangar, brother mine. Don't be so vacuous. _

The response came in less than a minute, Sherlock scoffed and shoved the phone back into his pocket, trudging across the open runway until he reached the hangar.

"Mr. Holmes." The pilot said, holding out his hand for Sherlock to shake. He did so cautiously. "Right this way please." He led Sherlock to the steps of a small passenger plane. Mycroft stepped out of it and Sherlock shook his head.

"Oh please, Mycroft. Do let me do things on my own. I'm not a child." Mycroft smiled and let out a small, short and meaningless chuckle.

"Yes I know that, Sherlock. I'm here to give you incentive to finish your foolish task." Mycroft handed him a large envelope, "Consider this my gift to you."

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, inspecting the package.

"Open it on the plane, and find out, of course." Mycroft said with a raise of his eyebrows and a twirl of his umbrella, "I suppose I will see you upon your return to London. Do try not to get murdered." Sherlock turned to watch his brother stroll leisurely out of the airplane hangar and he shook his head. He bounded up the steps and into the empty plane, taking a seat he ripped open the package like a child on Christmas morning. He took a moment to scoff at himself but continued to pull out the contents of the envelope.

"Pictures?" Sherlock asked aloud. He flipped through them. There was one of Mrs. Hudson on an afternoon stroll through the park. He smiled at that, she looked sad, but was still out enjoying nature. The next was of Lestrade, he looked angry, but no more than usual. There was an unfamiliar gleam in his eye and upon closer inspection of the photograph he saw it was surveillance footage from Mycroft's personal detail, "Oh really Mycroft? Gareth Lestrade?" He thought to himself for a moment, unsure if that was Lestrade's name.

He then came to the photographs of John. There were quite a lot, and for that he was thankful. Though he would never admit it to his brother. Of the seven or so pictures, there was only one in which John looked remotely happy. He was on his way to the cemetery. Mycroft attached a note to the back of that picture, a transcription of some sort.

"Hello Sherlock... Third time this month I've been here... The days are getting harder... I miss you..." Sherlock spoke quietly to himself, unable to read the entire transcription aloud. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. Allowing himself to momentarily flash to the pavement. He lay there, unmoving, pretending not to breathe, to be dead. Squash ball in his armpit. He could still feel John's fingers on his wrist. He could still hear the desperate plea's from his flat mate. From his friend.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock shook off these thoughts and stuffed the pictures back into the envelope. He could not allow himself to get distracted from the mission at hand. But perhaps if he just called John's phone... He only wanted to hear his friends voicemail. He pulled out the disposable and dialed in the number he knew so well.

_In this day and age, no one remembers numbers anymore. They're all stored in our phones. It's bloody depressing. _

John's voice rang through his mind like an old record and he laughed quietly. He told himself from that day forward that he would not delete John's mobile number from his mind palace. The phone rang three times before it was picked up, an uneasy silence from the other end.

"Hello?" That familiar voice said, Sherlock's breathing hitched and he couldn't move. He couldn't respond, obviously, but he couldn't quite allow himself to hang up, either. "Hello?" The voice asked again, "Look, if this is the bloody papers again, I'm going to say it one last time, I will not give you a story on Sherlock bloody Holmes. He was not a liar, nor was he fraud, nor were we shagging. So forget it." And with that, the line went dead. Sherlock laughed as he removed the device from his ear. He looked fondly at the mobile and then pushed it back into his pocket. For a moment he was mesmerized, then he was furious that the press was still hounding his friend. But the pride he'd felt about John Watson in that moment burned in his chest.

"John Watson, ever the faithful friend." He laughed and closed his eyes, resting his head against the seat. He hadn't gotten real sleep in ages, it was about time fatigue caught up with him. He fell asleep with his former flat mate's voice ringing through his head.

**I've written a few chapters already, so expect those soon. [=**


	2. Chapter 2

**This is a short chapter, so I'll post it tooooo!**

**Like I said before, I've written quite a bit of this already, but I'm gonna make y'all wait at least a bit. Wanna keep ya comin back, y'know!**

**Enjoy! [=**

John slammed his mobile down on his night stand, letting out a low growl.

"Damn papers. Can't let a man get a good night's sleep." He said to himself, getting up from bed and walking to the toilet. He looked at himself in the dingy mirror after flipping on the lights. His face was paler than ever, and his bags were, well, baggier. He sighed and splashed cold water on himself, taking a deep breath, he stood up straight.

"Though who can sleep through the night anymore?" He let out an uneasy breath and gripped the side of the sink. Sniffing he grabbed the pills his therapist had prescribed. Popping off the top he shook one of the small trapezoidal pill into his hand and stared at it. With a shrug he popped it into his mouth and swallowed with a toss of his head.

"Trazodone better work, or we're going to have a row." He growled to himself as he settled back into bed. He sighed and rested his hands together on his stomach and closed his eyes, flashes of screaming and coat tails flapping through the air went through his mind and his eyes shot open. He fought back the tears, but they were reluctant to remain unshed. With a deep sigh he pinched the bridge of his nose and let a few sobs out. Such was his new nightly routine. Wake up, take pill, cry himself to sleep. It was beginning to take a serious toll on him, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. His mobile rang again and his blood began to boil. He'd recently realized that anger was better than sadness.

"Look, I already told you people!" He began but the voice on the opposite end had other ideas, "Mycroft?" He asked.

"Yes, Dr. Watson. I'm sorry to call you at such a late hour, but it would seem you're services are needed." The British Government waited patiently for the doctor's response.

"What do you mean, my services? There are plenty of doctor's all over London. Call one of them." He was about to hang up the phone.

"I mean your detecting services..." Mycroft said reluctantly.

"I wasn't the detective... You know bloody well I wasn't." John's voice dropped, his anger shone through again.

"Yes, but you learned certain skills from my brother... Those skills are needed." Mycroft's answer sent John's head into a frenzy, he wanted to throw the mobile across the room but he calmed himself, breathed deeply.

"Where?" He asked and he could almost hear Mycroft's smirk.

"Bemidji, Minnesota. There's been an incident."

"Don't they have a police force?" John asked, knowing full well what Mycroft's answer would be.

"You've worked with the Scotland Yard, you know exactly what a police force does when faced with a difficult situation. They fall apart."

"What exactly happened?" John asked.

"Seems there's been a few murders, and a town such as this one hasn't dealt with murder in a long time."

"So they asked you for help?"

"Well... Yes. We received a call from a nice girl... Molly I think he name was. Oddly popular name, Molly." Mycroft's awful sense of small talk made John remember Sherlock and he wanted nothing more than to end the conversation so he did something he would otherwise never do.

"Fine, you'll send me there in the morning." John hung up his phone and laid back into his bed. "Well if I can't have you, Sherlock, I might as well put your skills to good use and solve a crime or two. Help people out." John turned into his side and stared across the dull room he'd called his since the fall, "It's what you'd want me to do." He sighed and closed his eyes, falling into a pill induced sleep.

**Sad John makes me sad...**


	3. Chapter 3

Lester Nygaard stared at the stain on his hardwood floor. Sighing he mopped it again.

"Ah, geez. This is never gonna come out!" He opted for scrubbing and was down on his hands and knees, yellow rubber gloves on, when his phone rang. He shouted, "Pearl! Get the phone would ya!" And then he stopped, remembering what he'd done. He stood up and threw the brush onto the ground, stomping over to the kitchen to pick up the phone.

"Yeah, hello?" He asked, slight annoyance in his voice.

"Lester! Hey it's Bill."

"Hiya there Bill, what can I do ya for?" He asked, nervousness only slightly invading his voice.

"Oh uh, me and the guys here at the station just wanted to invite ya to dinner. You know, to say no hard feelings about accusing you of murder, and uh... Well also sorta to take your mind off of things. It can't be easy living there, knowing what your brother did." Bill's response threw Lester for a loop, he shook his head and blinked a few times before responding.

"Yeah sure, Bill. That sounds great. I'll meet ya at the station around 5."

"Oh great Lester. See ya then." Lester hung up the phone and laughed to himself, still shaking his head as he went back to scrubbing his floor. The stain was still not coming out and his bad hand was starting to ache. With the infection gone, it wasn't as sore, but by golly did it still hurt. He decided that was enough for the day and gave up, throwing a towel over the spot and sitting down in a chair, flipping on the television.

He flipped through a few channels, passing old news reports and weather warnings about super storms coming their way. He flipped to the biography channel where something caught his eye. It was British from the looks of it.

"Sherlock Holmes was a fake. He invented everything, he made crimes so that he could solve them for us, and make himself look good." Lester observed the attractive black woman on screen, "He got off on it." She said and Lester laughed. A person getting off on murder and crime... He shook off the thought it gave him and continued watching. The camera crew was chasing a small blonde man through the streets, he reached his house and wouldn't turn around for them.

"Dr. Watson, please just give us something!" The crew shouted and he sighed, defeated.

"No, I will not tell you anything," The man turned and his face was blurred, he'd obviously not signed the consent form, "Sherlock Holmes was a great man," The man's voice cracked, "And he was not what you lot are makin him out to be. So leave me alone." With that the man slammed the door shut on his house and the documentary cut to a thin man with a beard who claimed Sherlock Holmes was still alive. Lester rolled his eyes and shut the T.V. off. He looked at the clock. 4:15.

"I'm sure the guys wouldn't mind if I came in early." Lester said to himself and got out of his chair and walked to his coat, putting it on and stepping into his boots. He finished bundling himself up and stepped out into the frigid air.

**Short chapter, sorry! Just introducing Lester into the story, y'know! [=**


	4. Chapter 4

**More, more, more!**

Sherlock tightened his coat around him as he exited the cab and waded through the snow to Bemidji's police station. He walked through the doors and shook off the white powder that had accumulated on his shoulders and hair.

"Gee buddy, you're gonna catch the death bein out in that!" A woman at the front desk said to him.

"Surely. Perhaps you could help me..." He said.

"Oh, you're British! How exotic!" She said excitedly.

"Right..." Sherlock paused for a moment and observed the woman, "I am looking for Molly Solverson..."

"Woh hoh, Molly's got two gentleman callers in one day. She'll be thrilled." She picked up the phone and spoke softly into it. Sherlock looked around his immediate area, eyes snapping back to the front when he saw a door open and a smiling brunette walk to him.

"You're the one sent to us from London, then?" She smiled and he couldn't help but return the grin.

"Uh, yes. Name's Watson... William Watson." He shook her hand and she led him back into the desk area, he sat next to another police officer, obviously not from Bemidji as he was wearing blue and everyone else was wearing brown.

"Uh this is Gus Grimly, from Duluth." Molly introduced him and he waved politely at Sherlock.

"I can assure you Mr. Grimly, I am of no threat to your budding relationship with Miss Solverson here. You have no need to be threatened by me. I am here to catch Lorne Malvo." Sherlock said quickly, the two officers barely had time to catch what he said. Gus cleared his throat, his cheeks going red. Molly spoke first.

"You know about Malvo?" She smiled, hope flickered behind her eyes.

"Yes. He's not the man you all think he is. He's extremely dangerous." Sherlock said and Molly let her eyes wander to Gus.

"Oh we know, Mr. Watson." She said.

"Yeah, we know all too well." Gus sighed. Sherlock turned to him and read him in an instant before he could reveal what happened.

"You let him go." Sherlock said and they snapped their eyes to him.

"How'd you know that?" Gus asked, sitting up straight.

"I am an expert at reading people. You will find by the end of the night that it comes in handy." Sherlock said and they looked at each other again, "You have someone you want me to question, don't you?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yeah huh. Lester Nygaard." Molly said, excitedly, "He's lied to us from the get go."

"Well I can assure you, that whatever this Lester Nygaard is hiding from you, I'll be able to figure it out. Can I look at the crime scenes?" Sherlock asked and again the two officers looked at each other.

"Probably not, no... You see it's been a few weeks... And the..."

"The evidence has been tampered with and there's probably nothing to go off of?" Sherlock inquired and they both nodded, "Well then tell me all the facts." They nodded again and dove into the story of Sam Hess, Pearl Nygaard and Vern Thurman.

"So you see, Mr. Watson... There wasn't much I could do after Vern's death. Bill became chief and I basically get shut down at every turn." Molly shrugged and looked down at her hands. Sherlock scoffed.

"You seem to be one of the most competent detective's I've ever met. I'd love to have worked with you in London. Someone who could actually keep up with me and Jo-" Sherlock cut himself off, "Nevermind that... They just don't know what they're missing is all." Sherlock smiled at the end of his complement, just like John had taught him and Molly smiled back before looking up.

"Well would ya look at that. Lester is here." Molly said and Gus turned around.

"We should question him now, that would be very time eff-" Sherlock stopped talking the moment he turned and saw Lester Nygaard walk into their area. The short blonde man spotted them and walked timidly to where they were seating. Sherlock stared, his mouth open.

"Oh hi there Molly." The man said and Sherlock shook his head in disbelief, "Officer uh, Grimes, was it?" He asked nervously, holding out his hand for Gus to shake.

"Grimly." Gus said and took it, standing up, causing Lester to turn his gaze upward.

"And this is Mr. William Watson." Molly introduced Sherlock and he stood, still staring in disbelief at Lester, "Mr. Watson, this is Lester Nygaard."

"Nice to meet ya, Mr. Watson. W-W. Fun initials." He laughed nervously and held his hand out to Sherlock, who kept his eyes fixed on Lester's face. Lester looked from Molly to Gus and back to Sherlock. His breath hitched as Sherlock took in every detail he could.

"Mr. Watson?" Molly asked, her eyes becoming worry stricken, she looked to Gus for help. Gus snapped his fingers in front of Sherlock's face and he blinked.

"Oh, uh... So sorry. How rude of me." Sherlock took Lester's hand into his and shook it, recognizing upon touch that this man that looked so much like John Watson, was not John Watson at all. This man was a coward, and murderer. A liar and... A very bad insurance sales man, by the looks of him.

"Yeah, well uh... The guys wanna take me out to dinner... So I'll catch you folks later." Lester laughed and gulped upon looking at Sherlock once more as he turned on his heels and tried to walk away. Sherlock's gaze followed him.

"Actually, Mr. Nygaard, I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you." Sherlock said and Lester turned back, the fear becoming obvious to only Sherlock.

"Oh, uh... Not sure if there's time, pal. I'll have to catch up with you later." Lester tried to walk away again.

"Oh Lester, you weren't supposed to be here till 5!" Bill shouted from his office. Lester closed his eyes and bowed his head in defeat. Sherlock smirked and Molly smiled at Gus who stifled a laugh.

"It seems that you have thirty whole minutes to speak with us, Lester." Sherlock said, being sure to linger on his name.

"Well would ya look at that. I do." Lester laughed and turned back to them, following them into an interrogation room. He sat across the table from the three of them. Sherlock was between Gus and Molly, staring directly into Lester's soul, "So um..." Lester cleared his throat and looked down at his hand, which he turned into a point and pressed against the tabled, "I already told Bill everything... So uh, I was under the impression... That uh, there wouldn't be anymore questions regarding this... Whole um... You know, this whole ordeal." Lester looked back up at them at the end up his sentence, they all sat, unfazed.

"Lester..." Sherlock began, tilting his head ever so slightly at the man who wore his doctor Watson's face, "Have you ever been held at gunpoint before?" He asked and Lester was taken aback, he blinked multiple times.

"Uh, no. I can't say I have." Lester smiled ever so slightly, still blinking.

"That'd be a lie." Sherlock said, "The placement of that wrap on your hand tells other stories. You were on your knees, hands to your head when Vern was shot." Molly and Gus let their eyes widen at this revelation, "I'd go so far as to wager that Vern was the one holding you at gun point when he was shot. Obviously he wasn't shot by you. He was shot by a marks man, with your shot gun."

"I... Uh..." Lester stuttered for a moment before sitting back, staring unemotionally at Sherlock. He looked down and laughed a bit before looking back up, "You got all that from my hand?" Lester held up his hand and looked at Sherlock before laughing again, "Ah geez that's a good trick." His laughter got louder and thicker before he finally calmed down and Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion, "How can you guys believe this guy? He's just looking at my hand and making guesses!"

"They're not guesses, Mr. Nygaard, they're fully formed deductions." Sherlock defended himself and Lester stopped laughing. He seemed to look through Sherlock, as if he was realizing something.

"Hey, aren't you uh... Supposed to be dead?" Lester asked, the image he saw on TV earlier clicking in his mind.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked, realizing he'd been sussed.

"Yeah, you're supposed to be dead. I saw it on T.V. earlier today." He smiled and sat back, crossing his arms, "Huh. Would ya look at that." He laughed and glanced up dangerously at Sherlock, "It seems we've got a dilemma on our hands." Sherlock breathed deeply, understanding Lester was a severely disturbed individual.

"Whatever you think you know, Lester... I suggest you forget it immediately." Sherlock threatened.

"I could say the same to you, pal." Lester continued to smile at Sherlock, who promptly stood and left the room, Molly and Gus followed shortly there after.

"Hey what was that?" Molly asked.

"Lester Nygaard murdered his wife and framed his brother for it. Without evidence I cannot validate my deductions. But yes, he does know who killed Sam Hess and Vern Thurman, I am sure of it." Sherlock said quickly, "Now if you'll excuse me, I must be going."

"Wait, Mr. Watson!" Molly called after Sherlock, but he was already through the doors of the police station. She sighed and turned to Gus who was watching Lester walk smugly out of the interrogation room and into Bill's office. He rolled his eyes and thrust himself back against the wall. Molly joined him.

"We have to figure something out." Gus said, "We will figure something out."

"I'm not so sure, Gus." Molly sighed again, "This whole thing is just so fudged up!" She said exasperated. He stood up straight and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, calming her.

"Hey hey. It'll be ok, I promise." He said softly as he turned to see a short blonde man walk into the station, "Moll... Does uh, Lester have a twin?" He asked and Molly picked her head up from her hands.

"Not that I know of, why?" She asked, eyes wide as she turned her head to see the man who was walking toward them.

"Hello, I was told I could find Molly Solverson here." He said, she noted his British accent, "I'm John Watson, I'm here to help."

**DUN DUN DUUUUNNNNN! I'm not sure why I decided, 'I'm John Watson, I'm here to help' is dun dun dun worthy... heh.**

**Anywho, what did ya think!?**


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock waited outside of the restaurant the deputies and Lester currently resided in. He watched bemusedly through the window and waited until he could make his move. Lester walked through the doors, stumbling slightly on the ice as he made his way to his car. He fumbled a bit and dropped the keys into the snow.

"Aw geez." He said, moving snow around, trying to find them. Sherlock walked up and found them in an instant, holding them up to Lester's face. He looked up at him in wonderment, and then gulped when he realized who it was standing above him, "What do you want, now?" He asked, slightly annoyed, slightly frightened.

"I just want to talk." Sherlock smirked and unlocked the doors to Lester's car, "In the car, please. I'm freezing my bollocks off." He climbed into the passenger seat of the car and Lester sighed before climbing in too.

"I already told ya everything." Lester laughed nervously.

"No, you really haven't. But lucky for you, I'm not interested in solving this town's crimes." Sherlock said, "I'm interested in Lorne Malvo."

"Gee, get in line." Lester said, starting the car up and backing out of the parking spot.

"Someone's already come to you about him?" He wondered if Mycroft's men had gotten there first.

"Yeah, some crazy guys wanting retribution for Sam Hess." Lester seemed to be an open book at the moment. Sherlock let out a breathy laugh, he could use it to his advantage.

"What did they do to you?" Sherlock asked, noticing the way he curled his hands around the steering wheel when he spoke of them.

"Scared the bajeesus out of me, is what they did!" Lester exclaimed, turning the corner onto his street, "But I told em, Lorne Malvo, I met him in a hospital... He had a head injury, my nose was broken. He started talking to me, asked who broke it. I mistakenly told him Sam Hess did it and had also slept with my wife..." He broke off, "Which she didn't! He just said she had soft hand was all... Oh heck, why am I telling you this? You could be wearing a wire!" Lester stopped the car on the street and turned it off before turning to Sherlock.

"I can assure you, Mr. Nygaard, I am not wearing a wire." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "This isn't some cop drama you've seen at cinema. I just need to know where Lorne Malvo is now."

"Heck if I know." Lester shrugged and got out of the car, "Say, you wanna come in for a drink?" Sherlock scoffed internally at this idea, but agreed anyway. He wanted to look at John's face a bit longer.

Sherlock stepped into Lester Nygaard's sitting room and was immediately met with a brown stain on the floor. He stared at it momentarily before understanding it was Chief Thurman's blood.

"Yeah, I waited too long to clean it. That stain's never comin out." Lester said solemnly, handing a glass of bourbon to Sherlock. He accepted it and took a sip, wincing at the terrible quality of the American Whiskey.

"Have you tried vinegar and baking soda?" He suggested and Lester stared, eyes still wide.

"No, I haven't. But thanks. I'll try that one. Yeah, thanks." He laughed nervously and sat down on the couch. Sherlock walked over and sat next to him, facing the front. Lester continued to stare at him.

"So, gee... You faked your own death, huh? That's pretty miraculous." Lester noted, "How'd ya do it?"

"I haven't the faintest idea of what you're referring to, Mr. Nygaard." Sherlock rolled his eyes. This Watson wannabe just wouldn't give up. He took another small swig of his drink and turned to face Lester, "But tell me, Lester... Why'd you do it?" He tilted his head and squinted his eyes at the man.

"I uh... Don't know what you mean." Lester downed the rest of his drink and stood, "Oh gee, I'm dry. Better go refill." Sherlock watched him walk silently into the kitchen and looked down at his whiskey. With a sigh he set it on the table in front of him, he pulled out his phone that had a new text message.

_Brother, mine... Do tell me you haven't given up on the crisis in Bemidji already. While I understand your desire to go straight for Moran, might I suggest you solve the crime?_

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stuffed the phone back into his breast pocket with a growl. "That's what I'm doing." He said to himself.

"What was that?" Lester asked, he hadn't noticed the man's return.

"Oh, nothing. Text message from my brother. You know how they are... Brother's." Sherlock looked straight at Lester after saying that and noticed his internal battle.

"Oh." He laughed, "Don't I know it. Ya know, one time... Uh... Chaz, ya see, he stuffed me into his closet for hours. Didn't tell anyone nothin." Lester leaned back into the couch and swirled his bourbon, "But that's what brother's do I s'pose." He laughed again and looked at Sherlock.

"No... My brother never did that to me." He admitted and Lester shrugged, his face twisted into an impossible frown as he took another drink, "Is that why you framed him, Lester? Because he was mean to you?" The question took him for surprise and he coughed into his drink.

"I didn't do nothin of the sort! He was... Sleeping with my wife." He raised his voice and then lowered it again, as if someone was around to hear, "Has anyone you loved ever betrayed you like that? Hmm?" Sherlock stared at Lester and couldn't help but think, _No, because John is a good man. _He shook it off and gave Lester a sad smile.

"One has to love before they can be let down. Sentiment is a weakness." Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned fully to the smaller man, "Now I will not ask you again, where can I find Lorne Malvo?"

"I don't know." Lester admitted, "I only spoke to the guy for a combined ten minutes. It was like he was pushing for something the moment I met him." He sighed and pressed his head into the couch, finally relieved to admit that he had indeed met Malvo.

"In the hospital?" Sherlock asked and Lester nodded, hands pressed to his eyes, "Where else?"

"In a diner. I went to talk to him about Sam Hess. Ya see I never gave him consent to kill the guy." Lester breathed, "Just told him the story about what happened that day. Broke my nose when he threatened to punch me. It was humiliating."

"And Malvo offered to kill him for you." Sherlock stated, "But why kill your wife?" He looked at the man a moment longer after asking that question. The clench of his jaw, the fidgeting of his bad hand, "Ah. She was just as bad as Sam Hess when it came to making you feel inferior. It was a crime of passion, so to speak. You hit her once, and couldn't stop." Sherlock sighed, "And when Vern came to speak to you about Sam Hess, obviously having learned of your connection to Malvo, he came in your house and shot him. But why was he here?"

"I called him." Lester admitted, "I was going to frame him for Pearl's murder."

"How very bold of you, Mr. Nygaard. I can assure you, it never would have worked. Malvo is a trained and highly skilled individual. You'd have been dead before you could frame him for the murder of your wife in a small Minnesotan town."

"I almost prefer that." Lester sighed and leaned forward, his head falling into his hands. Sherlock thought for a moment that he reminded him of John until he started bawling. The younger Holmes rolled his eyes and stood, taking a look around the house. He walked down the stairs, "Hey uh, where ya goin, pal?" Lester called after him Sherlock didn't bother responding. He glanced at the poster on the wall, it still had blood spatters on it. There was still a blood stain on this floor as well. He could see the whole scene played out before his eyes. Then there was a knock on the door upstairs.

**Who could it be!**

**And, yes... I know I added in some random themes like Johnlock, but nothing will come of it. Just like the minor mention of Mystrade in Sherlock's introductory chapter. Sometimes I add things in for fun. [=**


	6. Chapter 6

"So uh... Mr. Watson... Gee that must be a very popular last name with you Brits." Gus said to John as the three of them settled into a table at Lou's.

"What do you mean?" John asked, looking slightly amused.

"He just means you're the second British guy we've met with that last name." Molly answered, not wanting to upset the guy who said he was here to help them.

"Right, of course." He laughed as Lou walked up to their table.

"Gus, Molly..." He looked at John, studied him curiously. Molly could tell he was deciding whether or not this was Lester Nygaard, "Who's your friend?"

"Oh, I'm John Watson." He responded, standing and holding his hand out for Lou to shake.

"A Brit, would ya look at that." He smiled and shook his hand, "Wonderful manner's ya got there, son. Coffee?" He held up the pot and set down the three mugs he had in his hand. Pouring them each a certain amount. He walked away and came back with cream and sugar before giving Molly a wink and heading back behind the counter.

"He was a nice man." John commented.

"My dad." Molly said, pouring sugar into her coffee, "Anways, Mr. Watson... You said you were sent here to help?"

"Yes. Mycroft Holmes sent me." John decided to just come out with it. Molly blinked at the name, as did Gus, "He said you'd had a triple homicide in just two days and were having a hard time sussing the perpetrator."

"Well yeah. You see, the guy we think did it, Lester Nygaard, his brother got blamed for it. And the guy we think killed the first guy, well everyone just forgot about that one." Molly sighed and looked down into her drink, her hands cupped he sides of the mug, "It's just so darn frustrating, you know." John smiled sadly and nodded, taking a sip of his coffee.

"And you know, the fact that everyone in this town knows him as a coward... Well that just put the icing on the cake. No one believed us." Gus said, "And the guy, Malvo... Well he was just..." Gus made an explosion sound with his mouth while fanning his hands out from his head.

"Malvo, who's that?" John asked, slightly confused.

"Oh, we thought you mighta been briefed about him, like the last guy." Molly said, "No bother. He uh, well he's the one we suspect of killing Sam Hess. He met with Lester at the hospital, they were heard talking about the victim. And Lester has always been sorta, avoiding, when it came to the subject of him." Molly shrugged, fluttering her eyes over to Gus for a moment who hadn't looked up from his coffee. She looked back to John and smiled sideways a tad.

"Well perhaps if I could talk to either Lester or this Malvo character?" John asked.

"Well we can get Lester, but Malvo... We have no idea where he is." Molly said as Lou came back over to take their food orders.

"Maybe we could go to Lester's house?" Gus suggested as the three of them were leaving Lou's, not wanting to head back to Duluth just yet.

"Don't ya need to be getting back to Greta?" Molly asked.

"Oh, she's at her friends house tonight. Just in case I didn't make it back." Gus said, clearing his throat and smiling. John looked at the gaze they were sharing and laughed a bit to himself before the flashes of he and Sherlock looking at one another caused him to sniff and snap out of his trance.

"If we can, that would be wonderful." John interjected and Molly looked at him.

"I suppose so." She smiled and climbed into the driver's seat. Gus opened the back door for John and got into the passenger's seat as they made their way to Lester's house.


	7. Chapter 7

**So I'm re-watching ALL of Supernatural... Just cause, idk. I'm thinking about writing a SuperWhoLock fic... Hmmm... **

**Anywho, Enjoy!**

Lester opened his front door to reveal Molly, Gus and a third gentleman who had not yet turned to look at him.

"Hey, uh... Molly, Gus... I didn't expect you guys to drop by this evening." Lester smiled cautiously at the police officers.

"Oh, sorry to barge in on ya like this Lester... We just think we may have found your long lost brother is all!" She exclaimed, pulling on John's shoulder so he'd stop looking at the road like she told him to and turn around to face Lester. His thought process skid to a halt the moment he clapped eyes on the nervous blonde man.

"Oh wow!" Lester said, squinting, "Gee ya think we're related!" He laughed nervously and beckoned for the three of them to come in. "Can I get any of ya a drink? Molly, Gus... Uh, sorry... I didn't catch your name."

"It's John, John... Watson..." He said, tilting his head slightly at the man, still quite amused at his appearance. Sherlock held his breath on the staircase. "Do you have company Lester?" John asked, beckoning to the half full glass on the table.

"Oh, yeah. That fella who questioned me with you guys earlier bombarded me at my car today. Begged to know more about that Malvo guy. I humored him of course. Got him a drink, tryin to be friendly."

"Where is he now?" John asked, looking around.

"He's downstairs." Lester responded, John narrowed his eyes.

"Why?" He asked.

"He wanted to see where uh..." Lester feigned sadness as he cleared his throat and sniffed back non existent tears, "Where my Pearl was killed."

"Do stop your fake crying Mr. Nygaard, we aren't fooled nor are we moved by it." John sighed, rolling his eyes, surprised at how much he sounded like Sherlock in that moment. The detective in question listened from around the corner, beaming with pride for his flat mate.

"Mr. Watson!" Molly called out, almost unable to pry her eyes from the sight of the two blonde men in front of her. Sherlock snapped out of his reverie and sighed.

"I'm right here, no need to shout." John laughed glancing from Lester to Molly and back to Lester again.

"No, this is the other Brit named Watson we told ya about." Gus explained.

"Two Brit's named Watson in one day! Golly that's sorta strange, dontchathink?" Lester tried to joke as they heard the tell tale sounds of someone walking up the steps. For reasons unbeknownst to him, John's heart was pounding in his ears as he listened to British Watson number one walk to them. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor until he heard the voice he thought he'd never hear again.

"Hello John..." John looked up, pain evident in his eyes as he met the grey-green ones he thought he'd never look upon again, "I suppose saying surprise won't make this better?" Sherlock smiled sadly as John continued to stare.

"Say, is he okay?" Lester asked, looking at his doppelganger.

"I don't know..." Molly snapped her fingers in his face, "Doctor Watson!" She called.

"You bloody bastard." John growled, "You prat." He looked back at the ground.

"I'm sorry?" Molly asked, looking slightly offended.

"I don't think he was talking to you, Moll." Gus interjected and she sighed an _oh_ before looking back between the two British men. John breathed deeply, fighting back the tears and trembling breaths.

"It's been fourteen months, Sherlock." He said calmly, looking up, "Fourteen _bloody months!_" He shouted the last two words, causing Lester to jump, "Not a word from you... All I would have needed... Was a single..." He cut himself off, not wanting his voice to crack under the pressure of the situation. He began to walk over to his friend and Sherlock braced for the worse. What he got instead was a light push from John, who was almost certainly checking to make sure the consulting detective before him was real. Sherlock decided he'd most likely had delusions that he was alive before, and allowed the quick prodding.

"John... I'm..." Sherlock's thoughts were cut short when John reached out and pulled him into a tight hug. Sherlock gasped as he regained his composure and wrapped his own arms around the shorter man.

"I knew you were Sherlock Holmes!" Lester shouted, obviously quite pleased with himself.

"Yes, amazing deduction skills Mr. Nygaard." Sherlock said, exasperated as soon as he and John ended their display of affection and reunion.

"What are you doing here anyway, Sherlock?" John asked.

"Moriarty had a criminal network, a web so to speak. I've eliminated all but one of his members." Sherlock explained.

"Lorne Malvo?" Molly asked, almost excited, Sherlock smirked at her attitude.

"Yes, but his real name is Sebastian Moran. He is... Or rather was, Moriarty's right hand man. His go-to assassin. He is one of the most dangerous men I have ever had the pleasure of tracking." Sherlock explained further, staring directly at Molly, who's smile grew wider with each word.

"Oh yeah, he's dangerous alright. Shot chief Thurman with a shotgun..." Lester said and then quickly backtracked, "I mean, uh... He uh... What now?"

"It doesn't matter who he's killed here, he's taken a countless amount of lives in the world and I need to put an end to him. The sooner, the better." Sherlock said, cutting off Lester's ramblings.

"How do you plan on finding him?" John asked.

"Yeah, I mean, no offense mister... Whatever your real name is... But he's evaded us at every turn!" Gus said.

"Lester." Sherlock smirked.

"Huh?" He turned to Sherlock, his eyes wide.

"We're going to hold a press conference in which Lester admits that it was Malvo who killed Sam Hess and Vern Thurman." Sherlock explained, holding onto Lester's shoulder as if he could tell the man wanted to run away.

"Woaaah, no! Just you wait a second there. No way. I don't think that's such a good idea. I mean Chaz is already in jail for it... Bill wouldn't be too happy if he knew I lied..."

"Shut it Lester!" Molly shouted, "I think it's about time you quit lying and just told the truth!" Lester breathed deeply, something dangerous flashed across his face and John thought that he could see how this man wasn't as weak as he pretended to be.

"Malvo will find me, and when he does, he will kill me!" Lester said finally after much contemplation.

"We're counting on it." Sherlock said.

"And if you don't do it, I will." John concluded, looking at Lester.

"John, don't be ridiculous. While there is a slight resemblance, Sebastian Moran would never fall for it." Sherlock laughed.

John turned to Sherlock, tilting his head every so slightly, and the rate at which he was able to adopt the Minnesotan accent surprised even Sherlock, and threw the rest of them for a loop as John laughed slightly, sounding almost exactly like Lester he said, "Oh, you wanna bet?"

**Whaaaaaaat?**

**I got my mom to watch Sherlock, FINALLY! And after the first episode she says, "Are they gay? It seems like they're alluding to that..." **

**HA! My mom believes Johnlock is cannon. **


	8. Chapter 8

**SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG I'VE BEEN SO DISTRACTED OMGAH! THIS IS A SHORT ONE, BUT JUST TO GET THE STORY GOING AGAIN!**

Lorne Malvo sat in the reception area of a dentist office, he tapped his fingers on a brief case sitting across his lap and smiled slyly at the receptionist, a pretty little blonde thing. He glanced around the room, rolling his eyes at signs reminding everyone to brush and floss every day. His eyes stopped on a child sitting on a giant molar in the middle of the room.

The child stared at him, eyes narrowed and Lorne narrowed his eyes right back. The kid tilted his head and Lorne followed. After a minute of this, this child stuck his tongue out at him and Lorne laughed shaking his head. He looked around for another brief moment before focusing completely on the child. His face grew astonished as Lorne dragged his thumb across his neck with a devious smile. The kid turned around and ran to his mother, tears spilling from his eyes as a man dressed in a white lab coat came through the door and called his name.

"So tell me, why did you become a dentist?" Burt Canton asked Malvo from across a table.

"Oh, you know, it's a profession that is always going to be needed, and I just love being able to help someone smile." He smiles his fakest smile across the table, internally scoffing at himself.

"I know exactly what you mean. Part of the reason I became one." He smiles a genuine smile as someone knocks on the door and it's opened, the blonde receptionist is standing there, smiling.

"Message for you, Dr. Canton." She smiles at Lorne.

"Thank you, Gemma." He says, Lorne winks at her before she closes the door.

"She's a pretty one." He says.

"Tell me about it, the wife almost killed me for hiring her." Canton smiled at Lorne and leaned in, "Say, you've pretty much got the job, friend. How about you come over to the house this weekend for dinner, I'll invite Gemma." He winked and leaned back. Lorne smiled widely.

"Sounds great."

Lorne closed the door to his motel room and glanced in the mirror, his silver hair startling him for a moment until he remembered he'd dyed it a few days prior. With Mr. Wrench taking over his regular business, he'd been able to take the time out to set up the ruse to get to Canton's brother. It was going to take a whole lot of bullshitting and even more self-control, but he was sure he could do it.

He sat on the bed and began removing his shoes, clicking on the TV while doing so. The news was on, at first it seemed uninteresting and he was about to change the channel before he spotted something of interest.

A nervous blonde man was standing behind a podium of microphones, two police officers behind him.

"Lester." Lorne growled, shaking his head. Lester wrung his hands before speaking.

"A uh... A few weeks ago a few people got murdered..." He cleared his throat and looked around, glancing slightly to the cops behind him, who nodded. Lorne narrowed his eyes at the male officer, recognizing him, "And out of fear, I sussed-uh... accused the wrong person..." He cleared his throat again, taking a deep breath.

"Sussed?" Lorne asked aloud, "Since when does Lester say sussed?"

"But I lied. I was afraid for my life, as this man killed my wife and a friend. And another man, who I wasn't very friendly with." He closed his eyes and seemed to be waiting for something, maybe it was courage, Lorne thought, "A man named Lorne Malvo murdered Sam Hess, Police Chief Vern Thurman and my wife, Pearl Nygaard. He escaped and I don't know where he is... But if anyone has seen him... Or knows where he is... Don't approach him, and don't try to take him down yourself, he's very dangerous..."

Lorne laughed and tilted his head at the screen, he tisked and narrowed his eyes.

"That's not Lester." He said, a British accent appearing seemingly from nowhere, "Well hello, Dr. Watson."


End file.
